


sweet, clean and comforting

by palmcitrus



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Pet Names, Safehouses, Slow Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, literally just Jon being head over heels in love, post-159, soap antics, the inherent romance of distracting each other from chores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmcitrus/pseuds/palmcitrus
Summary: “Doing the dishes?” Martin murmurs in his ear. Jon can smell the cheap rosemary scent of his shampoo, wafting from his still-wet hair, and the sweet mint of his toothpaste. “I would’ve done them with you, if you’d waited.”“I wanted to,” Jon murmurs back. “You made dinner, it’s only fair.”He can feel Martin’s smile as he says, “Well, thank you, sweetheart, you didn’t have to do that,” and leans down to kiss the back of his neck.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 32
Kudos: 468





	sweet, clean and comforting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chewsdaychillin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/gifts).



> a birthday gift for the wonderful person who inspired this by making me go insane over the idea of jonmartin pet names. enjoy💕

Sometimes, despite everything, Jon feels like he’s glowing. 

Martin’s presence—his smiles, his soft hair, his near-imperceptible freckles in the sun—will sometimes just strike him again, steal his breath, like a gust of wind catching a kite and sending it soaring. He is _lucky,_ lucky beyond belief, that he’s here, that they’re both here, and he knows it—but even if he didn’t, just looking at Martin would remind him again every time. 

Tonight, it had been the dinner. The two of them had gone into the village earlier that day and bought all the ingredients to make curry chicken, and once they’d gotten back Martin had taken control of the kitchen, told him to shower up so he could have the hot water first, and kissed him on the nose before shooing him away. Jon had practically swooned. 

Standing at the sink, pulling on a pair of yellow rubber gloves, Jon suddenly becomes aware of his cheeks, beginning to ache from smiling.

 _Ridiculous,_ he thinks, shaking his head. _Like a bloody teenager in love._

Bubbles fly up around him as he scrubs at the pot—one spot at the bottom had burned when Martin made the rice, and it’s awfully stubborn. 

He doesn’t mind. He’s happy, just basking in the pure, unfiltered peace of the sound of Martin washing up in the other room, and the gentle music of the radio, playing a love song from the 50’s or 60’s. It’s grainy—they don’t get much of a signal out in this remote little cottage, and it’s not like a cheap portable hand-crank has the best sound quality anyway—but Jon knows the tune.

(But not _Knows-_ knows. He’s lowercase-k _known_ the song since childhood, when his grandmother would turn on her radio after she thought Jon had fallen asleep, but really he would sit at the top of the stairs and just listen, and think about comfort.)

He doesn’t really register the fact that he’s mumbling along the words— _every minute, every hour, every day—_ until he feels big, soft arms snake around his waist, and he’s smiling again before he can even feel surprised enough to stop singing. 

“Doing the dishes?” Martin murmurs in his ear. Jon can smell the cheap rosemary scent of his shampoo, wafting from his still-wet hair, and the sweet mint of his toothpaste. “I would’ve done them with you, if you’d waited.”

“I wanted to,” Jon murmurs back. “You made dinner, it’s only fair.”

He can feel Martin’s smile as he says, “Well, thank you, sweetheart, you didn’t have to do that,” and leans down to kiss the back of his neck.

Jon feels his face heat up, and his affection for Martin suddenly burns so bright and intense it almost tips over into ache, the kind that makes him want to cry just because he doesn’t know what else to do with it. 

Instead, he twists his head to the side, meeting Martin’s lips with his own, and lets “sweetheart” echo in his mind. 

He’s never been anybody’s _sweetheart_ before. Never been touched like this before, so gently, never had his jaw cradled like this; never experienced this constant pull to be as close as he can; never felt so desperate to stick with somebody. 

Nobody in the world is like Martin. Nothing Jon has held has ever been so important. 

A wisp of hair has come loose from his bun and found its way between their mouths, and Jon absently goes to pull it away, not remembering the soapy gloves. The feeling of warm water between their faces makes them both pull away from each other in surprise, and Martin laughs softly.

“You got soap bubbles on your face,” he says, then, moving his eyes up, “and in your hair, oh…”

Martin’s got a smear of bubbles on his cheek, too, and it’s so endearing it almost hurts. He twists his body fully around in Martin’s arms and leans in to kiss him again. 

Their mouths move gentle and slow, and Martin huffs a little laugh into Jon’s mouth when he pushes one still-gloved hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and rests the other at the small of his back. “Honestly, Jon, I just showered,” he mumbles.

“’S just soap,” he mumbles back, “Besides, I’ll help you get it out.”

“ _Mm_ —will you.”

“Sure.” He nips at his bottom lip. “Later.”

The smiling from both of them makes kissing just a little bit harder, but Jon redoubles his efforts as Martin presses tighter against him.

His tongue slides against Jon’s lip, and Jon obediently opens his mouth in response, inviting him in. His mouth is warm and soft, and the way he kisses—slow but insistent, steady—makes something bloom in his chest. He lets out a little groan as Martin’s body shifts against him, his arms moving further around his back. 

And then wet hands are on the sides of Jon’s face, and Martin is breaking the kiss and laughing. Jon blinks—and realizes that while he was...distracted, the bastard had reached around him and grabbed handfuls of suds from the sink.

“Hey!” Jon protests, laughing and moving to shove him with his own soapy gloved hands, but Martin catches his wrists. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, grinning. “You started it.”

“ _I_ was just trying to clean,” Jon says. “You’re the one who interrupted me. And called me _sweetheart.”_

“I did,” Martin says, peeling the glove from Jon’s hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. “What—” He does the same to the other, and tosses them into the sink. “Did you not like it?”

Jon slides his thumb across his cheek, brushing away the bit of soap still there, and takes a second just to look into his eyes. They’re brown, and warm, and so incredibly soft. “It was fine,” he shrugs, trying to hide a smile, not looking away. 

Martin quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Just fine?” A quick kiss. 

“Perfectly fine,” Jon says, leaning back in.

“Well, I suppose—mm—if you liked it—mmph—I could say it again,” Martin says. “Sweetheart.”

Jon shudders the tiniest bit and feels his face warm up again. “Martin,” he sighs.

Jon’s not a fool. He knows this is new, although they’ve both ached for so long it doesn’t often feel like it, and it’s almost guaranteed that this ideal scenario they have won’t last forever. There are still wisps of fog that cling to Martin’s skin every so often and pangs of supernatural hunger that are getting harder and harder to fight off. But for now, he is happy, and he is safe, and they have each other, and however much they will eventually have to face, it will be worth it.

Martin seeks him out, kisses him full and deep, and rests their foreheads together for a moment after their mouths part. He leans to the side and grabs a dishcloth off the counter, then gently wipes the suds from Jon’s face. 

The overwhelming aching feeling comes again. Jon smiles softly, watching his face the whole time, and he breathes softly through it. Once he’s done Jon takes the cloth from his hands and returns the favor. “I love you,” he says, smoothing his curls back into place behind his ear. “Quite a lot, you know.”

“I kind of got that impression,” Martin turns to press a kiss to his wrist. “I love you, too.”

Jon wraps his arms around his shoulders, pressing his face into his neck, and listens to him start to mumble the lyrics as they sway, ever-so-slightly. Jon strokes a hand through his hair, and thinks about comfort, and they leave the dishes for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> s5? I don’t know her :)  
> please share and leave comments/kudos if you enjoyed!! they add years to my life💋  
> ALSO the song on the radio is Sunday Kind of Love by Etta James.


End file.
